


Bit

by aperture_living



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gags, M/M, Non Consensual, Sexual Content, Smut, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperture_living/pseuds/aperture_living
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nothingness had given him a Room, and The Room had given him a glimpse back into things he didn't at all care about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bit

The Nothingness had given him a Room, and The Room had given him a glimpse back into things he didn't at all care about. Childish drawings? Scratched hallways made with scribbles? Chairs that moved completely on their own? It was all trivial, not what he wanted now when the end was close and all this foolishness could just finally be _over_. Only a few more doors. A few more trials. A few more swings and then it would all be settled, like a certificate, signed and witnessed and notarized.

The Batter was at another scratched out area, another annoyance, and another trip that led to something that _wasn't where he needed to be_. When he walked through that door (again and again and again), he found himself standing before a cabin, another twist, another turn, some shack with dead trees in a dead land over a dead canyon. Rolling his eyes, the Batter tossed open the door, letting it bang against the back of the wall as he strolled in, owning it, commanding it. _Let nothing stand in my way_ , that stance said. _Because I am **done** with this._

He had hoped for a queen. Instead, he got a memory.

_What do you want? Why have you decided to be a pain in the ass? I've dedicated my whole life to this place! You've got no right to ruin it with your damn ghosts. Shove off!_

Dedan. Dedan, but Dedan was dead. Cleansed. His zone was a white dream.

The bat that rested on the purifier's shoulder dripped blood from other conquests, silently threatening. Dedan. The first of several, the loud mouth, the anger, that ruling presence...

And now he looked different. The aura of power was gone, the strength passable, all of it old and forgotten, tainted. Lost. Meanwhile, he spoke of cows and dates and the damn time.

The damn _time_.

It was insulting. It was demeaning. It was a joke, some sour thing, something bittersweet, something that made the Batter irate, enraged, _pissed_. He didn't want this. This wasn't in his plans. Hands gripping the bat, he swung it off his shoulder and pointed it at the taller man, a snarl on his lips.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he spat. "If so, I neither have the time or patience for it."

The guardian (or shadow of one, as far as the Batter was concerned), looked down at him, questions on a face that seemed so shielded before, so impossible where now it was softer. "Come on, I don't know what you're talking about. Can't you just go get that calenda--"

The bat struck the floor, chipping at the wood, sending splinters in all directions like shrapnel from a landmine. Words were thrust out from between his teeth, syllables like gunfire. "Games don't suit you."

Dedan regarded him with the same curious confusion that he had since the Batter spoke, a record skipping, something not going according to script. "Kid--"

Another strike of the bat, this time closer as he took a step forward, the wood chips soaring, raining. Behind his jaw, he could feel his teeth grinding could feel the grimace locked behind them. "I am no 'kid'. I am a purifier. I am _your_ purifier."

Something flickered in those eyes, some memory that made those tall shoulders suddenly tense beneath his jacket. The Batter almost smiled, almost said _finally!_ , almost felt the satisfaction that maybe, maybe he could have a proper fight again, could show this impure creature the correct way to stay dead. But that look in the guardian's eyes flickered out, and he was The Tall Mister again, that damn creature he didn't know, a damn creature who--

"A cow bit me, and--"

He didn't bother to listen to the rest of it; the Batter simply closed the distance and swung the bat. Stopping the worst of the damage by pulling back on the assault before it could connect, he still felt the strike vibrate through his hands when it caught Dedan in the stomach; it felt as though he hit a brick wall. The guardian fell like a tree, doubled over, wheezing from the rush of air that ran from his lungs, and the Batter was happy to breathe in what the other forced out. 

"Wh-"

"No," the purifier snarled, grabbing the strange jaw and forcing the guardian's gaze on him. "I refuse to let you do this. I refuse to allow you to forget what happened. What you are. What _I_ am."

Those staring eyes let the surprise seep out and anger fill in the vacated cracks. Breath slowly claimed, Dedan hissed, "Fuck you, kid. I don't hav--"

His bat drove itself back into the stomach, another strike that doubled the guardian over again, before dropping him to his hands and knees. "Close," cut the Batter, cold, relentless. "But not enough.. Try again."

The glare that snapped up towards the purifier was starting to burn to with a familiar hate, and the Batter's lips twisted in a grin under the shadow of his hat. If Dedan could have caught enough air in his lungs, the Batter didn't doubt that he would be shouting obscenities from here to the Nothingness. That would have been better.

Taking a moment to step on the larger man's hand and grind his heel into its meat and bones (making certain to put his whole weight into it, of course), the purifier walked behind Dedan, poor, breathless Dedan, He would remember. He would be the man he faced in Zone One. He would validate the Batter's victory, his work, the hard and impossible work that he had been doing all this time. He would remember what it was like to be purified, he wouldn't let the Queen and her tricks take this away from him, wouldn't let this sway him, dammit.

This wouldn't happen again. This wouldn't. This was his victory. His. And if he had to do it again, he would.

"What the f-fuck--"

"Silence." And his bat was there again, touching that ridiculous coat and flipping up the strong back, getting it out of the way. Leaning the weapon against the wall beside him (always beside him, always within reach, he wasn't a fool), he nonchalantly grabbed for Dedan's pants and started working them down his hips.

"N-No, you f-fuckwit!" he wheezed, and the Batter idly wondered if he had broken one of the man's ribs on that second strike. A large hand (the one that hadn't been crushed under a heel) reached back to swipe at the purifier, but the bat was snatched up and slammed against his forearm, driving a loud curse from the guardian's throat, much to no one's surprise. 

" _Cunt!_ "

A lesser weapon wouldn't have been risked, but this was the best, had to be, Zacharie promised. Leaning forward, he shoved the bat like a horse's bit between Dedan's teeth and yanked back, grabbed the handle and the wider top, and pulled it tight, cutting off all of those words, all of those curses, all of those protests. The choking noise was far more favorable than any of those foul lies, anyway. 

"The purified should stay that way," he hissed, removing one hand from the makeshift gag long enough to open his pants and pull himself out. The promise of power had done most of the work for him, the strength in all of this necessary violence, in what was coming, here, beyond this room, with _her_ ; his cock was hard long before it was out in the open air. Listening to the grunts and growls of the guardian in front of him only enhanced it. 

There was no reason to prep, no reason for pleasantries; the Batter only smiled when he guided his cock into Dedan, swallowed up by inhuman heat, inhuman strength. It was tight, almost painful, and going in dry had been unfortunate for him as well, but he ground his teeth and laughed in the back of his throat as he shoved forward, moving until he was in, all in, dead end. Before him, he could hear the guardian yelling, trying to spit out the bat wedged in his mouth, but the Batter's hands were back up front, gripping both ends, yanking that head back and up as his teeth ground into the metal. Like training a bucking horse, the purifier jerked him backwards towards him, directed him where he wanted to go, what he wanted him to do, all by controlling the mouth. If he had been a deeper, thoughtful man, he might have thought it symbolic.

Hips rocked in, back and forth, hard thrusts that were merciless and relentless. Dedan would _have_ to remember him, would have to be the opponent back there; the swearing had been part, but this, _this_ would solidify it. The long coat ghosted over the floor, scrapping lightly with their motions, the only sound mingling with the grunts, the slap of flesh, and Dedan's damaged hands scrapping against wooden floors. It was the sound of a battle, another true battle, another essence that he had to possess, own, defeat. 

_When I am finished, this will be all white, as well. All of it. Ignorance will never be your bliss._

As Dedan tried to pull forward, away, out of range, the Batter hauled him back, yanked and tore him by his bat. It was almost a game, riding him out, driving deeper, impossibly deep every time he tried to crawl away, punishing with sharp snaps of his hips; how long could he keep moving with him? As long as it took. The purifier almost wished he had a mirror just so he could watch the memory of ( _death_ ) purification seep back into the guardian's eyes, that recognition taking seed. 

He wondered if the Queen was watching. 

He hoped she was. 

It wasn't the friction, wasn't the warmth of the guardian's body, wasn't the motion of their fucking, wasn't how tight he was (a first? probably) that made the Batter feel his end nearing; it was the way Dedan's teeth notched the bat. It was the way his back arched under that coat in an attempt to escape, broken rib and smashed hand be damned. It was the way the guardian had knelt on one of the floor's splintered pieces and blood was soaking through the knee of his pants. It was the muscle in his body, fighting him, battling him, trying, trying. 

It was Dedan losing. Losing at all of this. Losing for the second time. 

Tightening his hold on the weapon, he turned it to the left, forcing the Tall Mister to crane his neck so that the Batter could look into at least one of his eyes as he hissed through his teeth, as he came inside the man with a hard final thrust. He might have been laughing (he was), he might have been jerking that bat up and down to force the guardian to nod (he did), he might have savored the look as it all came rushing back to Dedan (he would). And when he was finished riding it out, the Batter pulled back and out, adjusting and fixing, putting himself away and pulling his newly-notched weapon from the other's defeated mouth. 

"I will never let you forget me," the Batter said, slowly walking towards the door. He brought the bat to his lips and trailed his tongue where Dedan's spit still dripped down it, tasting it. "Just as I will never let you forget what you are: 

"Beneath me."

The Tall Mister (no, _Dedan_ , the guardian) glared at him, tried to climb up from his knees, but fell back down, that broken rib catching up with him. "Fuck y-you, you p-piece of ssshit. You f-fucking murderer. 'P-purifier', m-my ass. You-You just destroy. Th-That's all."

Reaching into his tunic, the Batter pulled out a calendar page he had picked up earlier, a piece of intuition, and he dropped it in the middle of the room. June 3 glowed proudly. 

Walking out, the Batter smiled and wondered if Enoch was here as well.


End file.
